They fell into silence, Trudy wiping down the far end of the bar. Finn thought he heard her mutter, “Idiot,” under her breath, but he was too tired to address it.
Max, Finn’s foreman at the end of the bar, looked up. “Hey, Finny. Look at this!” He shot the paper down the length of the empty bar between them.
It was opened to a page with an article on a fabric show at the Baltimore Convention Center. “You think I need curtains?” Geez, Finn had always suspected that under Max’s tough-guy exterior, there was a softer side. Max had been married forever—a devoted husband and father despite his bluster.
“No, dummy. Flip the page.”
Finn turned to the next page. It was filled with ads for local bars and the bands they were hosting. “You want to go hear some music?” He looked at his watch. It was 1:30 A.M.
“Look at the one down in the corner. How about that?” Max said proudly.
Finn saw it. His face dropped.
Trudy snatched the paper from him. She looked at it, then tore the entire paper in two and tossed it in the trash. “Finny isn’t interested in bands in bars. Right, Finny? He’s got a kid to raise.”
Finn was taken aback by Trudy’s abruptness—and her superhuman strength. After all, she’d been the one shooing him out at every opportunity, telling him she’d babysit, to go and have a good time. Trudy never had anything against bars.
Max said, “Yeah, but did you see the name of that band? The Finn Concord Five. You moonlighting on me with a secret band, Finny?”
Finn felt something tug in the bottom of his stomach. There was another Finn Concord in town. If Cecelia were here, she’d think the new Finn Concord might be her One True Love. After all, since he wasn’t dying, he was the wrong guy. But maybe this one—
Oh, hell. He was slipping into treating this gonzo True Love business like it made sense. It was cracked. Some guy in a band wasn’t Cecelia’s One True Love.
“Listen,” he said, loudly enough for Trudy and Max to hear, but not meeting anyone’s eye. “Say there was this woman. And you thought you might be falling in love with her. But she’s got a fiancé. But you know he’s cheating on her. Would you tell her?”
“Is she hot?” Max asked.
Finn sighed.
Trudy picked up the phone from behind the bar. “I’ll tell her. What’s her number?”
“I didn’t mean right this second,” Finn protested.
Trudy shrugged. “If you really loved her—”
“I’d wake her up at two in the morning?” He shook his head. “Okay. There’s more. Say you knew that this woman believed something totally whacked—but she really believed it—”
“Example,” Max demanded.
Finn looked around him. “Okay. Say she believed that I was a pretty nice guy, she liked me fine. But a psychic told her that her One True Love was named Max Toledo and she believed it.”
“Hey! That’s me!” Max leaned forward. “Did you say she was hot?”
“Stay with me here,” Finn said. “Do I have an obligation to tell her about the cheating fiancé and also to tell her about you? Tell her where you are? Introduce you?”
“Hell no!” Trudy boomed. “What the hell kind of dumb-ass obligation would that be?”
“A moral one,” Finn explained.
“Moral? Grow up and go get her, you chicken-shit.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Max protested. “What about me?”
“Screw you. Why should Finny worry about a schmuck like you?”
“I’m not worried about Max.” Even as he said it, a nagging thought tugged at him: was he messing up Cecelia’s chance at True Love? No, he didn’t believe in the psychic bit. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that? “I’m worried about living with myself for the rest of my life knowing that I lied to her.”
“You didn’t lie. You just withheld some information that was mumbo-jumbo voodoo anyway.” Trudy leaned right into Finn’s face. Her breath scorched his cheek, so he felt every word. “Don’t tell her, Finny.”
When Trudy got that look in her eye, let her gums show, every word she said came out like a threat. His body tensed. Couldn’t Maya have found a sweet, tender granny who baked cookies and knitted socks? A granny who told him to do the right thing, no matter what his narrow self-interests were?
Max put a twenty down on the bar, then came to stand behind Finn. “If you really love her, tell her. Let her decide. Then you can live with yourself for having done the right thing.”
They both stared at Max with wide eyes. Max turned beet red. “I mean, you’re still the boss, of course.”
Finn felt as if an angel were perched on one shoulder, a devil on the other. That the angel was forty pounds overweight and stunk like Bud while the devil was his kid’s pen pal toothless gin-drinking granny made the image a little odd, but still, it somehow served.
“Go home, Max. You’re drunk.” Trudy’s eyes were hard, her voice otherworldly.
Finn shivered.
Max shrugged and thumped Finn hard on the back, as if that would reassert his manly credentials. Then he looked around to make sure no one else was listening, and leaned in close. “Maybe I am drunk. But I’ve been married twenty-seven years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about women it’s that you’ve got to tell them the truth. All the truth. Always.” Max straightened, thudded Finn again, then turned to go.
Finn watched Max make his slow, careful, wobbly way out of the bar.
Great. Did he listen to the drunk or the she-devil?
He looked up at the ceiling. The saints and angels stared down at him. Sally, I think I love Cecelia. What should I do? He closed his eyes. If Amy could talk to spirits, then he could talk to his dead wife. It wasn’t like he expected her to talk back.
Tell her everything.
His eyes popped open.
Maya was on the stairs in her pink bunny jammies.
“Maya? Did you say something?”
She rubbed her eyes. She was half asleep. “Daddy? Is the witchy lady gone?”
First Camille was a bimbo, now a witch. Poor lady had no idea how bad a night she was having. “I’m coming up, buddy. Let’s get you back in bed.” He glanced back up at the ceiling and shivered. What the hell had that been? Finn got up and went toward Maya. Then he stopped. He spotted another copy of the day’s paper, open to the horse racing, abandoned on an empty table. He stuck it under his arm.
“What are you going to do, lover boy?” Trudy hissed, eyeing the paper.
“Why do you care about my love life?”
“I don’t give a shit about you and your loveless life. I’m representing the kid.”
Finn’s stomach tightened. Touché. He ought to give the lady more credit. His voice softened. “The band’s not playing until Wednesday. I have a while to figure it out. I’m gonna sleep on it.” He caught up with Maya on the stairs and turned her sleepy body toward the top.
“Alone,” Trudy called after him as he ushered Maya back to bed. “You’re gonna sleep on it alone—for the rest of your life if you’re not careful, you stupid, ignorant fool.”
Chapter 18
Amy was practicing pulling aces out of her sleeve at Cecelia’s dining-room table. One thing about her gypsy-chic was that she didn’t usually have sleeves and if she did have them they were see-through. So she wore one of Cecelia’s sweaters. The thing was pure cashmere, like wearing a kitten. It must have cost a bundle. Not that Cecelia cared about money. No, she might be an idiot about love, but at least she understood how to make money.
Well, hopefully, Cecelia was finally catching on about the love thing too. She sure had come home late last night. Amy felt sure she had finally connected with Finn at that doctors’ dance. The dress Cecelia wore was on the right track, anyway. No woman wears a dress like Cecelia had worn to that banquet without having naughty intentions.
Amy smiled and dealt a few hands, keeping the aces firmly in place. The cards had to be positioned just so, then she could
shrug one into her down-turned palm—damn it always got caught on the hem.
The buzzer rang. Amy jumped. The clock on the wall said it was two in the afternoon; no way workaholic Cecelia or Jack could be back so early.
She went to the intercom and picked up the receiver. The doorman’s voice came through. “Ma’am? I have a little girl here to see you?”
Amy froze. “Little girl? Chubby little girl?”
Silence. Then, “Well, um, okay, you could say that.”
“Looks like she’s casing the joint?”
“That would be her, ma’am.”
Shit. What was Maya doing here? She wasn’t ever supposed to come here. “Send her up. Quick. But first check and see if you still have your wallet.”
Amy put the phone back on the intercom and waited. The doorbell rang and Amy dashed to answer it. She bundled the girl inside. “What are you doing here? Do you know what will happen if Cecelia sees us together? She’ll suspect. And once she suspects, it’s all over. Do you understand? All over. No mommy. Right?”
Maya walked by Amy as if she weren’t there. The girl’s eyes were wide as she took in Cecelia’s palatial apartment. She petted the velvet chairs, then went straight for the balcony and pressed her entire face up against the glass doors. Yuck. Amy would have to wash that before Cecelia came home. Why were children so sticky?
“Wow. I can see heaven from here,” Maya said.
“Well, good.” That’s probably the only view you’ll ever get of it at the rate you’re going. “What are you doing here?”
“Daddy got laid.”
“No kidding! Oh, I knew we could do it. All right Cecelia!” Amy danced a celebratory jig.
“It wasn’t Cecelia. It was some other lady. She has witchy fingers and hairs on her hands.” The memory of the horror made Maya shudder.
Amy stopped dancing. “Damn. Another woman? We have to get rid of her.”
“You’re gonna kill her?” Maya’s eyes grew wide.
Amy began pacing, her chin in her hand. “What? No, of course not. You watch too much TV.” She looked at the calm child. “I mean, not unless you have any ideas.”
“We could throw her off of here,” Maya said, indicating the balcony.
“Good thinking, but no. We’re going to have to keep her alive. Sit down and tell me everything.”
“Okay.” The girl perched on the edge of an enormous stuffed chair. Amy couldn’t remember ever being that small. “Daddy took me on the train to C.D.—”
“D.C.”
“D.C.B.A . . . I can do the whole alphabet backwards—”
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” Maya searched for her train of thought. “We got ice cream and mine was chocolate—”
“Wait. I didn’t mean tell me absolutely everything. I meant everything about your dad and the hairy witch.”
“Oh.” Maya looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “Okay. He had a date with Cecelia. He looked like a prince. Then when Granny Trudy was teaching me to pull aces out of my sleeve—”
“Can you do it?”
“What?”
“The aces.” Amy tossed her the deck.
Maya dutifully stuck a card up her sleeve. She looked to her right and said, “My, it sure is hot lately,” just like a tiny, airy southern belle. By the time she said “hot,” the ace of spades was cradled in her palm.
“Amazing.”
“I know. Granny Trudy says I’m a natural. So, I’m doing the trick and he comes in with this witch.” She paused so the awfulness could properly sink in. “She got all mushy with me and touchy and yicky and then Granny Trudy says it’s way past my bedtime. Not like she cared when we were practicing the aces. And I can have a sleepover with her if I want—”
“Granny Trudy said that? I’m going to kill her.”
“Oh, no, I love Granny Trudy!”
Amy scowled. “I won’t really kill her.” Amy took the cards and tried to pull the ace as flawlessly as Maya. Damn, that girl was good at cards, but lousy with romance. “Go on.”
“Granny Trudy snores, but she makes a good breakfast.”
Amy shook her head. “You’re supposed to stick by your dad. If you let other women in, then Cecelia can’t get in, and then she can’t be your mommy.”
Maya considered this. “Shit.”
“Language!”
“Ships!” She rolled her eyes like a tiny grown-up. “I didn’t know True Love worked like that.”
“Well, it does. Just one woman fits, see? So then what?”
“So then, Granny and me we went upstairs. But I snuck down later and they were getting laid.”
“Downstairs? On the bar?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, gross. Remind me not to order lunch there again.”
Maya looked pained. “It was gross. Totally gross. I almost threw up. Then, the first chance I got, I came here.”
“Which was bad. What if Cecelia was here?”
“Is she?” Maya looked around, alarmed.
“No, dummy. I wouldn’t have let you up if she were here. Now—”
Suddenly they both froze. A key turned in the lock.
“Shit! Hide!” Amy and Maya both jumped up.
“Language!” Maya scolded as Amy shoved her into the broom closet. The moment the closet clicked shut, the front door swung open and Cecelia walked in.
Cecelia had spent the morning at the hospital, but she couldn’t keep her mind off the night before. After Finn and Camille had disappeared into the steamy night, she and Jack had returned to the gala. If she planned on repairing her reputation, it must be done immediately, with Jack at her side.
She and Jack didn’t talk about the reasons they went back and endured the uncomfortable small talk and sideways stares of the soused, suspicious doctors. They didn’t need to—they understood what was required. The exquisite relief of that unsaid knowing had kept Cecelia lively throughout the ordeal. She had made the right choice; this was the man who understood her and her world. The craggy rocks of society couldn’t touch their smoothly sailing vessel.
Whether Cecelia consciously had been avoiding going home to Amy or not, the delay worked. Like old times, Elliot and Julia gave her and Jack a ride home. Elliot gave her a fatherly nod of the head as they climbed out of his BMW. It had given Cecelia a creepy feeling, but she shook it off. Decisions had been made, and she was sticking by them. By the time they arrived upstairs, Amy was sound asleep in bed. She and Jack were too exhausted to do anything but follow her example.
Now, the next day, she had to talk Amy into lying to Jack. Unfortunately, Amy was antsy and unfocused. She stood. She sat. She licked her lips ferociously. But Cecelia didn’t care what scam or lie or plan she was interrupting. She needed Amy to concentrate on the most important psychic reading of Cecelia’s life.
“C’mon,” Amy pleaded, “let’s get out of this stuffy apartment. We’ll talk about this over Chinese. I’m starved.”
“Stop being so jumpy. We’re not going anywhere until we talk this through. I only have twenty minutes before I have to get back to the office.” Cecelia’s impatience was rising. She had explained about Jack’s demand that she learn the name of her One True Love. Slowly and patiently she had taken Amy through the whole awful conversation, and now all Amy could think about was food?
“Let’s go talk in the kitchen.”
Cecelia let her head fall back. “No. This is important. Sit down and look me in the eyes and tell me you’ll do it.”
“Forget it.” Amy sighed, plunked onto the couch, then swirled herself so that her feet stuck up in the air and her head hung over the bottom cushions. “I will not lie for you, Cel.”
“Why are you whispering? I can barely hear you. You said that it was my con, I call the rules. So, I’m calling them. I want you to tell Jack he’s The One.”
“Listen to yourself,” Amy whispered. “You just admitted it. You know, if I had a dollar for every marriage based on convenience and appearance and mat
erial gain, I’d be rich! The Baltimore police might call me a con artist, but it’s women like you who are the liars and the cheats.”
“That is so unfair. I love Jack.” Cecelia tried not to think about why Amy might be involved with the Baltimore police already. Was that why she kept licking her lips?
“Shhh.”
“What is the matter with you? I will not ‘shhhh.’ Just because Jack’s not the love of my life doesn’t mean that we can’t love each other.” Was Amy in so much trouble with the police that she thought the place was bugged?
“Let’s go jogging. I’ve been wanting to start jogging—”
“We are not jogging. We’re working this out. Jack will be home in a few hours. What is the matter with you?” Cecelia was instantly sorry for her exasperated words. She watched Amy’s eyes grow hard.
“What’s the matter with me!” Amy hissed. “You love Jack? Love like what? Like cousins? Like buddies? Oh, that’s a rich thing to base a marriage on. Face it, Cel, you want the guy because he’s rich and successful and safe. That’s not love. Tell him the truth.”
Cecelia wanted Amy to sit up in the chair like a normal person. She was sick of everything topsy-turvy. Marrying a good man who she loved was a betrayal, but chasing after a man who had no future and was probably sleeping with her colleague was okay? “Sit up. And stop whispering. I can’t hear you when you whisper.”
“I have a hangover. I can’t talk. My head’s about to explode,” Amy hissed. “If you love him, you wouldn’t lie to him.”
“Lovers lie to each other all the time. That’s how real life works, Amy.”
“Ouch! My head!”
Cecelia rolled her eyes. She had to rein in her frustration, or she’d never get anywhere with Amy. She whispered fiercely. “This is real life. It’s not a novel or a Hollywood movie. Plus, he doesn’t believe. It’s like Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus? Oh, no, we’re not talking about Santa Claus.” Amy looked around nervously. Suddenly she jumped up and switched on the radio.
Cecelia switched the blaring music off. What was wrong with her sister? “It’s exactly like Santa Claus. If a kid believes, the Santa at the mall tells the kid, ‘I ate the cookies. I brought the gift.’ But if a kid knows that there’s no Santa, the fat guy in the cheap suit can say, ‘I see you’ve been very, very naughty this year.’ It doesn’t matter what he says, it’s all a game.”
Make Me a Match Page 14
